


The Timeless Realms

by DaharMaster



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Clockwork Technology, Dwemer - Freeform, Everything Going Wrong, Gen, Planar Travel, Tonal Architecture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaharMaster/pseuds/DaharMaster
Summary: When it comes to be Tonal Architect Ranac Arkthagn's turn to disappear with the rest of the Dwemer, something goes horribly awry and he does not end up where he was supposed to. That's a given. But where is he now? It's unlike anything he's ever known and he must find a way to either get to where he's going or accept life in this strange new world, all the while flummoxed by everything and endangered by his own ignorance.





	1. Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pikestaff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikestaff/gifts).



The great halls and chambers of the Freehold of Mzaldbgarn rang in perfect harmony with chimes, hymns, and the deeper infrasound resonance of raw magicka. Only Chief Tonal Architect Ranac Arkthagn’s acutely attuned ears could sense it as he rolled down the smooth central ramp flanked on either side by angular stairs of a downward passageway.

Ranac, you see, had been born with legs so deformed as to never be useable. Fortunately for him, he had been born a Dwemer, not as some uncouth and barbaric race that would have left him for the beasts of the outside world.

Thus, as was quite common, his legs has been replaced by the sliding and overlapping rounded plates powered by a large gyro that many of his people’s animunculi used, allowing him to get around even easier than if he had had legs, for if nothing else, the metal encasing the central gyro was cast to be covered in nanodentacles, providing him enough traction to climb nearly vertical surfaces.

This was all controlled by an enchanted circlet he wore that was linked to the dynamo-core at the center of the gyro.

He was wearing his best that day. Beneath his exterior clothing he wore a simple gold silk tunic, but over that he wore his robe of malachite-thread mesh with a double line of thin, yet sturdy, almost weightless plates of Dwemer metal running all the way from his breast to where the robe ended, about a third of the way down the sphere.

Over that he wore a mantled shawl of jade beads strung so tightly together and of such a small size they seemed to be a simple shimmering fabric. Finally, atop his ever-so-slightly elongated skull, he wore a yellow velvet conical cap trimmed with white silk brocade.

His long beard and mustache were well groomed, waxed, and perfumed, numerous gold beads woven into it, and a golden torc held his long blue-black hair in a loose ponytail, in addition, bejeweled rings adorned every finger and several plain gold ones adorned his long pointed ears. A seemingly simple dwarven dagger, the only embellishment being the ruby embedded in the pommel, hung from a thin dark blue-green silk sash about his waist, and in his right hand he held a small engraved scepter barely long enough to fit in his hand.

Behind Ranac trailed a much smaller sphere, a perfect replica of his own, save that it was only the sphere and one sixth the size. This was one of his infamous “pets”, specifically his favorite and most complex ones. You see, for all his achievements and accolades, Ranac had a certain peculiarity about him in that he liked to dabble not in steam power or enchantment or any modern Dwemer technology, but the highly antiquated technology of simple dynamo-powered clockwork. Gears, cams, weights, and levers.

Despite what others thought, however, Ranac was a clockwork genius, creating with simple moving parts what others had to use magic and steam for. The sphere, Irkn, was his most complex creation and thus it was only appropriate that of all of them, Irkn should accompany him on this great journey.

After all, it was time for the Ascent. The Planar Animi had been created and most of Mzaldbgarn had already made the Journey. All that remained were Ranac and his apprentices. Now it was his turn.

As Ranac neared the Chamber of the Animus the halls and corridors began to grow quieter and quieter, all empty save for the odd item left behind. Eventually the only sounds were his and Irkn’s spheres rolling along and Irkn’s arrhythmic ticking. Then they were there.

The chamber itself was surprisingly small and mostly taken up by a giant bell-shaped Dwemer alloy enclosure that an apprentice swung open with great effort as they approached. There were two of them there, one on either side. They both looked nervous. Ranac could understand why, once he was gone, they’d be both the last and in charge.

He moved to enter the enclosure but paused, feeling he should say something. After all, this was a momentous occasion.

“We once were subject to the whims of greater forces,” he thrummed in his basso voice, “But now we transcend our nature and become those forces.”

The apprentices nodded in unison and he and Irkn entered the enclosure which was closed behind them so that they stood in the center of a great bell, the interior covered in minute ridges and markings.

Ranac lifted his scepter and it began to extend outwards until it was a little over half a meter in length, the end forking out into two parallel prongs. It was too dark to see it but Ranac knew that at the tip of each prong were two perfect glass needles, perfectly placed so that their tips aligned in such accuracy that only Ranac knew the secret to their alignment.

A button raised itself from beneath his thumb with a mechanical click. Ranac took a deep breath and pressed it. The two prongs came together swiftly and the point of each needle struck the other which created an ultrasonic chime.

But although Ranac could not hear it, already he could feel it resonating throughout the enclosure. There was a back-and-forth vibration like a great wave, and a circular gyre that rose and fell. Soon the vibrations were everywhere and so powerful that Ranac could barely see for it shook him so much.

Then something happened. All along he had been able to hear Irkn’s arrhythmic ticking but now the sound was growing louder, amplified by the enclosure, and creating vibrations and resonances of its own.

Ranac’s heart seemed to leap into his throat. This would have dire consequences he knew. He tried to roll closure to the wall of the enclosure, to pound on it so the apprentices might let him out, but the great sonic battle that now waged around him seemed to hold him in place.

Irkn’s ticking grew louder and louder until it was deafening and the sonic vibrations only grew more and more powerful. Ranac found he could not breathe and somehow, simultaneously, the world around him grew blindingly bright and went utterly dark. Either way, he lapsed into unconsciousness.

A great deal of time seemed to pass, but he awoke lying on an uneven surface, his entire body aching, the taste of blood in his mouth, with fetid cold air blowing over him. Without even opening his eyes he could tell it was painfully bright and parts of his body felt scorched.

Wherever he was, it was not where he was meant to be, and he was sure of it.

That was precisely the moment something very sharp then poked him in the chest and he froze in terror.


	2. Nirn and the Needle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding himself... somewhere, Ranac tries to make some new friends. You can guess how that goes for him.

Whatever it was that was poking him in the chest sure was persistent and after what seemed like an eternity, Ranac finally managed to open one eye a small amount. There, in the blinding light which glistened off its rounded wings, was what appeared to be a very large flying brass beetle. It also happened to be the source of the repeated prodding, poking him hard in the chest with a dendritic foreleg.

With a sigh of relief, Ranac shoved the beetle aside. It was only Irkn in its normal form, not the spherical form it only employed on occasion.

He sat up, something which caused his head to throb until it felt like it would burst like a fungal spore, but he attempted to sense his surroundings anyways. It was only then that he truly noticed the cacophony of noises cluttering the airspace around him, all unidentifiable. The smell was strong too both too sweet and too rancid. The air felt chilled and dry but he was undeniably close to a strong source of heat somewhere above him.

Then a thought struck him and he began reaching about blindly on what appeared to be the dirt and stone he sat upon for his scepter. Finally he found it about a meter away. With practiced movements and a gentle touch, he made a few adjustments and then just as it had before, it extended out into a half-meter long rod with a forked end. He made it chime twice, this time at a lower frequency than it had before and from his circlet descended a perfectly shaped and smooth thin plate of obsidian just far enough to cover his eyes.

Ranac gasped in amazement at what he saw, his eyes now shaded. The world expanded out away from him in all directions until it finally faded away into a distant fog. Above him was a great blue vaulted dome and a blinding light in the shape of a circle hung perfectly overhead.

This-... it couldn’t be… no, it had to be… Ranac, for the first time in his rather long life, though he was not even of middle age for a Dwemer, was outside. It was not uncommon for Dwemer to venture out of their holds and into the world, many did it quite often, but Ranac had never seen the appeal. He had prefered to tinker, to design, to build, to conceptualize in the comfort of his own home or workshop than ever venture out.

Now he wished he had gone out, at least from time to time, or even just listened to the stories others brought back, as he was now entirely out of his depth. He did not know what to expect, what to avoid, and should he encounter anyone the best he could do in terms of communication was use what little Aldmeris he remembered from his time at the Mzift, the vocational academy.

Still, he knew he needed to find some semblance of civilization. Out in the wilds he stood little chance of survival. He didn’t know what was safe to eat or drink or how to make a shelter, and eventually he would need materials for repairs to his equipment and his sphere.

Already his thoughts raced. If he could find a town, or better yet a city, he could settle there, at least for a time, learn the language, and use his Dwemer talents to make his way there for a time, then hopefully make his way back to Mzaldbgarn, and just be a few years late in catching up with his Dwemer brethren. Yes, that would do quite nicely.

It did, however, beg the question of just where on Nirn he had ended up. Unfortunately, he was no great scholar of geography and so his surroundings gave him no clues. Well there was only one thing for it, he decided, he had better get moving.

Ranac was on the side of what seemed to be a tall ridge or mountain of sorts and so he thought to climb to the summit and see if he could spot any habitations nearby. The sun was directly overhead, meaning it was midday, and thanks to his knowledge of astronomy he knew that at this time of year he would have seven more hours of daylight left. Surely he could find something by then.

Again he adjusted his scepter and the head of it began to retract, though the forked section widened. Meanwhile a second shaft began to extrude from the back of it until Ranac was holding not a scepter, but a perfectly sized staff which he used to help right himself.

Already beside him there seemed to be somewhat of a path leading upwards.

“Irkn,” he said, his voice full of false confidence, “Follow.” Immediately the clockwork beetle sprang into the air and began to hover just behind Ranac’s left shoulder as he started to roll up the path. For a while it only grew rockier and steeper, but thanks to his sphere’s nanodentacles, he traversed it with ease.

It seemed he had begun in somewhat of a clearing as he now moved through the cool and welcoming shade of large pines as the path widened and then began to level off as he neared the summit.

Suddenly, he could smell smoke of some kind, and then as he turned a bend around a great granite boulder, he could see small plumes of it rising just beyond the next turn. Just at that moment his sphere began to grate and bounce along what had once been a cobbled road, judging by appearances.

What luck! Surely a settlement was just ahead. He sped ahead now and nearing the final bend, could hear a loud clamor of voices all speaking what seemed to be a mishmash of alien tongues.

As he rounded the bend what he beheld made his heart leap in excitement and joy. It was more than he could have hoped for. Two long rows of timber buildings lined a single cobble street, one on each side, and just in front of him, in the middle of that street, were a mix of men, elves, and even beast races, many of whom he could not identify. They were all talking loudly over one and other.

Then in unison they all froze and grew deathly silent as they stared at Ranac. Some faces were inscrutable, others displayed shock, and many outright hostility. Maybe this was not so good.

Still, with false bravado, Ranac cleared his throat and in his best Aldmeris said simply, “Hello.”

“Quin haar lohk,” groaned an elf Ranac was fairly certain was a Bosmer.

“Nge nge jhit szu pa lan,” replied one of the Men. At that point what Ranac had thought was a simple beast of burden turned around to show it had the face of a man and let out an extremely long and varied belch. The rest nodded in agreement.

Then an old woman, perhaps a Nord, pushed her way through the crowd and approached Ranac who did not dare move but felt panic rising in his throat. She smiled softly at him and made some gestures he did not quite understand, though he nodded anyways. She held out one hand palm up and then gestured to him. Hesitantly, he mimicked the gesture and she slipped an old and withered hand beneath his, cradling the back of it.

Only then did Ranac notice the needle she held in her other hand, the tip dipped in something dark, but it was too late. She pricked his palm rapidly in three places then hastily took two steps back.

Ranac felt dizzy and giddy, his vision swam, and he had the sense of falling perpetually.

“Oh…” he managed to slur, drooling on himself ever so slightly as his eyelids fluttered.


End file.
